Today, I had a murder to write about. A murder that was preying heavily on my conscience. If I'd taken her fears seriously would Bernice be dead now? The woman had turned to me for help, and I'd let her down.
I began my article. “Bernice Roadcap feared for her life, and, as it turned out, her fears were justified.” Perhaps I did editorialize more than I should have in a news report about the sanctity of life and the cowardice of poisoners, but I rationalized that as editor I could do as I pleased.
I printed it out, corrected a few spelling errors, attached a file photo of Bernice, and carried the article to the front office to place in Cassie's IN box.
On the floor next to Cassie's desk was the package that had already tripped me twice, and that I'd twice asked her to unpack. It was still unopened. With a sigh of impatience, I grabbed an X-Acto knife out of Cassie's desk drawer, and slashed through the brown tape.
Beneath lots of crumpled paper were two stacks of books, all identical, all titled
It amused me to learn that solid, pillar-of-the-community Cassie had a secret life. It was the kind of thing I expected from acquaintances in the city, but in conservative Lickin Creek…? I took the book into my office and thumbed through it. The little I read was well written. I couldn't wait to ask Cassie about her writing career.
When the phone rang, I reluctantly put the book down. It was Luscious, calling from the police station with the weekly crime report.
“No news about Kevin,” he said before I could ask. “We done put out an APB and had a couple of reports from West Virginia about a suspicious-looking guy with some kids in tow. I'll let you know what we find out.”
Thirty-six hours. Kevin had been missing for thirty-six hours. Could a child survive that long in the cold of the mountains? And if he really had been kidnapped, what had happened to him during those long hours? I needed to put the possibilities out of my mind.
“What have you done about Bernice's death?” I asked. “Did you send that cup to the crime lab for toxicology testing?”
“Sure,” he said. “But it'll be a few days before I hear anything back. The autopsy's going to take a while, too. Tori, I really meant it last night when I asked for your help. With only me and Afton here, I'm running in more directions than a chicken with its head cut off. Seems like the council's threatening to fire me every couple of minutes.”
“I'll do what I can,” I assured him. “Right now you should start interviewing the people who were on the stage. Find out if anyone noticed who put the cup on the pedestal-or even if they saw someone go near it.”
“Thanks,” he said with what sounded like a sigh of relief. “I'll get on it right away. Are you ready for the police news?”
“Fire away.” I grabbed a pencil.
He gave me the details on two DUIs, a fight at Daisy's Bar-Grill-Laundromat, and a break-in that took place last night at the home of a noted Civil War historian, Dr. Cletus Wilson. I sat up straight when I heard the address, for it was in my own Moon Lake neighborhood.
“I hope this doesn't mean Lickin Creek's getting to be like the city,” I commented, thinking I was beginning to sound like a true Lickin Creek native.
“I hope not, too, Tori. But this was probably just teenagers out for a thrill. Not much was taken. Only a few flashy things, Wilson said. They left the most valuable stuff alone.”
“How'd they get in?” I asked, thinking of my not-so-well-hidden key.
“Wilson said they got in through the servants’ entrance in the basement, then came up the hidden staircase.”
“Hidden staircase? Sounds like a Nancy Drew mystery-
“Of course not. Everybody knows that all the houses in Moon Lake were built about the same time, and all of them have hidden staircases and corridors.”
“Even mine?”
“Probably. They were for the servants to use-so they wouldn't bother the rich home owners with their comings and goings.”
I made a mental note to look for secret passageways when I got home tonight.
The next call was from Praxythea. Her limo had just arrived to take her to York, but first she needed to tell me that Ginnie had stopped by to remind me of our bingo date. “And she brought you a bingo kit,” Praxythea said with a chuckle.
“What's that?” I asked.
“It's a little plastic bag with colored markers in it, and-let's see-a good-luck troll. How adorable!”
I groaned.
“She'll pick you up at five-thirty.”
“Are you sure she said five-thirty? That's awfully early. I won't have time for dinner.”
“She said to plan on eating there-they have good slippery potpie. What is that?”
“A local delicacy. One I don't care for. Have a good trip.”
My hand was still on the receiver when the phone rang again. Thinking of the many articles I had to write, I almost chose not to answer, but I've never been able to ignore a ringing telephone.
“Hello,” I said.
Nothing.
I tried again. “Hello, anybody there?”
Again, no answer.
“Damn computer-generated calls!” I muttered, almost ready to hang up.
Then I heard a faint, hesitant voice. “Miz Miracle?”
“This is Tori Miracle. Who is this, please?”
A pause. “It's me. Peter.”
I jerked to attention. Was he going to tell me the truth about Kevin-despite his sister's bullying? This could be the break we needed. “What can I do for you, Peter?” I asked calmly. I didn't want to scare him off with my eagerness.
He mumbled something so softly I couldn't catch anything but Kevin's name.
“Do you know where Kevin is?” I asked. “If you do, please tell me.”
“I'm scared,” he whimpered.
“Of what?”
“Pearl.”
My God, what has Pearl done? I wondered.
“Where are you, Peter?”
“Corny's,” he said.
“Corny's Feed Store?”
“Yeah.”
“Is Pearl with you?”
“I'm all alone.”
“Is Kevin all right?” I asked. I couldn't bring myself to ask if he was alive.
“Don't know. I'm real scared.” His voice quivered. “Can you come get me?”
“Peter, stay where you are. I'll be there in half an hour.”
“Don't tell no one. I don't want Pearl to know I called you.” I could hear sharp bursts of air and knew he was hyperventilating.
“Hang in there, kid. I'm on my way.”
CHAPTER 9
